


Wink

by SeverinadeStrango



Category: Sengoku Basara
Genre: Akechi Mitsuhide is His Own Warning, Akiyama Nobutomo Belongs to @judasetcetera, Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Implied Gang Violence, Implied Organized Crime, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Pole Dancing, Sex Work, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-25
Updated: 2019-02-25
Packaged: 2019-11-05 06:18:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17913404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeverinadeStrango/pseuds/SeverinadeStrango
Summary: All it takes is a split second.





	Wink

**Author's Note:**

> Akiyama Nobutomo is a historically based OC belonging to @judasetcetera.

In Nobutomo’s opinion, it was nothing short of reckless, for Shingen to come to this place out of them all – it was well known that the club was run by Oda Nobunaga, one of his most threatening rivals, and that they were far out of their own territory. As to why he’d been dragged here, he knew not. Shingen himself had vanished elsewhere and was near impossible to find amidst the low lighting and pulsing music and the smoke that was so thick it seemed to blanket over all of the air itself.

_Shit._

With a shrug, he slid onto one of the open barstools and scanned over the area, wary, but not quite to the point of being paranoid. As a whole, the attention was focused on the dancers currently on the stage, in the middle of a rather complicated routine – he would have expected no less from Oda. He watched them with the same appreciation that one would a group of acrobats – doing things that most normal people would never dare to, somehow exuding a constant aura of unshakable confidence. There were tall and short dancers alike, clearly something for everyone – of all genders and physical shapes. Master of all trades, apparently. 

And then there was _that_ one. 

He was up high on the pole, holding himself up with legs that looked no larger than a pair of sticks, torso completely limp as he rotated evenly about with an eerie sort of grace. White and pale, all of him, as if he was made of moonlight. Or dug up straight from a grave – either analogy worked, really. Nobutomo shivered despite himself, watching the man’s spiderlike motions, the fluidity of his lithe torso as he made his way back down from midair to the stage like a rolling droplet of water. Not so much as a hint of a struggle, and then _all_ the way down – Nobutomo didn’t even know that someone’s spine could _bend_ that far.

Some unseen patron reached upwards as he approached the edge and held obligingly still, tongue trailing over purple glossed lips as a wad of bills was tucked into the very edge of the numerous leather straps crossing over his torso, his thighs, his shoulders – was it _all_ one unit? Nobutomo couldn’t even try to imagine getting in and out of _whatever_ that was without accidentally garroting himself. 

“He’s popular,” came a voice from over his shoulder, and there was Shingen again, somehow having materialized right out of the heavy, thick air. “Been here for a while, but not as long as some of the others.” Nobutomo shot a pointed glare in his direction. Even if what he was thinking _had_ been obvious, voicing it certainly wasn’t needed! 

“Know his name?” Nobutomo asked, but when he turned back around, the Tiger of Kai had somehow made like a panther and disappeared into the darkness. Again. At the very least, Nobutomo knew he wasn’t a lightweight – the Lord of the Takeda was more than capable of keeping his own head on his shoulders. No real cause to worry. Resigned to that for now, Nobutomo looked back up towards the stage, the music having come to an end, a brief pause that the audience used to voice their appreciation. His eyes were glued to the pale man, as he smirked, long white hair falling over his eyes, as he bent over with a swooping, tantalizingly delicate motion, as he stood up and raised his head and looked Nobutomo _dead_ in the eyes.

“What – “

The tip of a pointed tongue trailing over his lips the brush of a fingertip up the inside of one slim thigh wait a minute what _was –_

The man smiled, winked once at him, and then turned, practically gliding off the stage, leaving him with the gentle motion of silk ribbons and the pull of leather straps against skin, long legs bending torso rolling those eyes watching acid green and vicious. Nobutomo still didn’t know his name. But he _did_ know that he was, without a doubt, quite fucked.


End file.
